Some Things Are More Clear When They're Not
by MagellinaFluffQueen
Summary: Alana and Hannibal drag Will to the fireworks display.


**So this is my first fic I've posted in a long time. Just pointless fluff, really. I hope you enjoy it! ^.^**

Will was jerked from a fitful sleep by a scratching, tapping sound. Someone was knocking on the door- except the door was level with the wall, open to its full capacity to allow in any breeze the still Virginia July evening graced him with, and the knocking was not knocking so much as the drag of knuckles across wire mesh. Alana Bloom was on the other side of the screen.

"Will?" she called, and Will cursed the heat and his subsequent pantsless state. He staggered away from the couch, rubbing his eyes and pushing his glasses farther up his nose. He stood in front of the screen, staring through at his visitor and wondering what she wanted at this time of evening.

"May we come in, Will?" Hannibal's voice drifted in, and Will leaned to the left and saw him standing behind Alana. Abigail smiled from beside him, looking more at ease than he'd ever seen her before.

"I guess so, let me go put on some pants." He let them into the house, then headed to his bedroom.

When he returned he saw Abigail and Alana sitting on the couch, Alana with her face as close to the swivel fan as she could get it without craning her neck and Hannibal trying to pick a place to sit that wasn't covered in dog hair. He was dressed down for him, which was still impeccably nice: he wore pressed pants, though of a lighter material than his usual tweed, and had dispensed with his jacket and tie. Will noticed the topmost button of his shirt was undone, and mentally berated himself for feeling a small flop in the pit of his stomach when he looked at Hannibal's adam's apple.

"What're you three doing here?" he asked, running a hand across the back of his neck and grimacing at the sweat collecting there.

"Today is the fourth of July, Will. It's a custom that you and your fellow countrymen gather together to celebrate the anniversary of your independence." Hannibal said, a slight reprimand in his voice. As if Will could remember what day of the week it was, let alone day of the month.

"We're taking you to the fireworks display." Abigail explained.

"Wolf Trap has a fireworks display?" Will was confused.

"We're not going to Wolf Trap." Hannibal said. "We're going to Arlington."

"Arlington?" Will's eyes widened. "Do you have any idea how many people will be there?"

"As your psychiatrist I think it's a good idea for you to be exposed to ordinary people." Hannibal told him.

"Good thing you're not my psychiatrist, then." Will nodded at him.

"As your friend I have to agree with him though." Alana jumped in. "You need this. You've been in this house for months. The only people you see are dead of FBI, and-"

"And you think seeing ordinary human people celebrating their ordinary human lives will help remind me that not everybody is serial killers and psychopaths." Will finished for her. He shook his head, chuckling a bit hysterically. He could sense Alana and Hannibal fighting not to look at each other.

"The thing is, you're probably right." He conceded when he'd finished laughing.

"So you'll come with us?" Alana looked surprised he'd given in so easily.

"Let me just change my clothes." he said, glancing down at his sweat-soaked undershirt and pajama pants.

Abigail beamed at him as he left the room, clearly glad to be doing something 'normal' again.

Will was silent on the car ride. Hannibal and Alana were having some kind of nonverbal conversation in the front seats and Abigail was sleeping against the door, so Will contented himself with staring out the window and at the scrupulously clean interior of Hannibal's car.

"What's that?" he asked, having noticed what looked like wicker shoved under the backseat.

"A picnic basket. I thought we might have something to eat." Hannibal said off-handedly. Will raised his eyebrows. What would Hannibal Lecter, pro-chef and connoisseur, prepare for 'picnic food'?

Will didn't have to wonder for long. After arriving at the park in Arlington and helping Alana spread out a blanket for them to sit on, Hannibal unloaded the basket. There was an array of delicate looking little sandwiches, small cubes of cheese and meats, and wine. Hannibal noticed Will's surprise and smiled.

"Didn't think I knew picnic food, Will?" he joked.

Will laughed. "Honestly, I wouldn't have guessed you knew what sandwiches _are_."

Abigail rolled her eyes. "Everyone knows what sandwiches are, Will, even our crazy French psychiatrist." She took a bite of a cucumber sandwich, spread out on the blanket.

"Thank you, Abigail." Hannibal, choosing his own sandwich and pouring a glass of wine. Will wondered if he was glad at the 'crazy' or the 'French' or the 'our'. Hannibal did seem to have grown very attached to Abigail, and she to him. Will felt a little left out sometimes, actually. Not tonight, though. Tonight was the most connected he could remember being in a long time.

"Oh, and I almost forgot..." Hannibal reached back into the basket and removed a dark bottle. "Beer for Ms Bloom."

Alana raised the bottle to him, smiling.

Will was just taking a sip of his wine when a loud boom made him jump, spilling it down his shirt. Abigail handed him some napkins, her expression sympathetic as she observed the red blossoming down his white shirt. Will mopped at his front, glancing upward over his glasses at the fireworks now littering the sky.

Only, they weren't littering at all. Without his glasses Will could barely see his hand in front of his face, but he could see the fireworks, and they looked fantastic like this. Instead of the cheap trails of fire and smoke he knew them to be, the fireworks appeared like supernovas, spreading in a burst of light and color, dotting his vision with reds and yellows and blues and greens. The lack of clarity elevated them from a parlor trick to the most astounding magic he had ever seen.

There was a blooming, billowing red with a yellow center which looked like nothing more than a giant flower set alight. A series of popping, crackling blue-white spots made it appear that the stars were falling. A bright orange one sent out tendrils that looked like a massive sea-urchin. A two-toned firework shot dancers of purple and white out across the blackness.

Will could hear Abigail and Hannibal discussing the chemicals used in fireworks in hushed tones. Will looked at the psychiatrist with fondness.

The majesty of the fireworks display, Will thought, reminded him of Hannibal. If you looked too close the whole thing was likely to be ruined, because then you could see the effort and manipulation that went into maintaining that illusion. If you took a step back, numbed your senses a bit, dulled your vision, the whole thing morphed into something earth-shatteringly beautiful and so, so good as opposed to rather cheap and potentially deadly. Will found himself wishing he couldn't see below the surface, couldn't see that Hannibal was hiding something dangerous and unknowable. He found himself wishing he could blur his vision, see only the parts of the good doctor that made him appealing to Will's fragile psyche. They could be good for each other, but for that nagging itch that Will couldn't get rid of, the one that screamed to him that Dr Lecter was not safe despite all the evidence to the contrary.

Will took another drink of wine. Maybe it was his mind playing tricks on him. After all, Alana trusted Hannibal, and well... if Will couldn't trust Alana he couldn't trust anyone.


End file.
